Vale tandem, non immemor mei
by Hareta
Summary: KuroKyou friendship fic. First DARK angst CGT fic! When your hands have been stained, do you dare touch the ones you love..? Chapter 1 up!
1. Default Chapter

**Vale tandem, non immemor mei**  
_(Farewell, then, and do not forget me)_

  
  
**Prologue:** Fiat Voluntas Tua _(Thy will be done)_   
  
"Mother."   
  
Francine Marume turned around to face his fifteen-year old son. Moonlight made highlights on his blonde hair so that parts of it appeared paler than it already was, while the lamppost he stood next to cast a vertical shadow that crossed his form. His Mediterranean blue eyes held fear in them and she took a step towards him, then placed her hand reassuringly on his cheek. Kuroudo closed his eyes and leaned to the touch. He left her to guess that he was gathering his confidence to say what he must, as well as listening to the nighttime sounds around them to calm his nerves. His father had taught him that when they first found out about their son's exceptional sense of hearing. "What is it?" she asked as he opened his eyes.   
  
"Mother, I think we're being followed. I don't like this," Kuroudo said quietly with a frown, his eyes shifting to the side as if he could see what hid behind them by doing so. He removed his kojiki from its perfect balance on the top of the dark canvas bag he held by its drawstring. The light above them suddenly died out ominously. He turned around slowly, peering into the dark, but he saw nothing.   
  
"There's nothing there, dear," his mother stated his thoughts, "Let's go home. I can only imagine how tired you must be."   
  
Kuroudo blinked into the darkness but still saw nothing. He loosened his grip on his wooden sword slightly. Perhaps his mother was right. Fatigue from weeks of practice for the kendo competition held earlier as well as today's activities must be taking its toll on him and making him hear things. But he was pretty sure what he heard was no figment of his own imagination...   
  
Reluctantly, he turned his back to the dark road again and quickened his pace to catch up with his mother who had continued to walk before him. The streetlight had flickered back to life seconds ago. They continued to walk in silence, the surroundings so quiet that he could almost hear both of their heartbeats. His mother's was a calm, steady one, soothing, while his threatened to turn him deaf with its loud, fast and uneven cadence. Although his mother did not have ears as keen as his, he was still surprised that she did not hear his heart, pounding as it was.   
  
_Shadows._ He was sure he saw shadows out of the corner of his eyes. He was trained to notice everything in his immediate surrounding all at once. In kendo, attacks could and would come from all directions imaginable and an expert swordsman like himself was always aware of the movements of the people around him, especially that of his opponents.   
  
And he was sure that whoever lurked in the dark were no friends.   
  
"Mother," he said again as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to a stop, intentionally under another lamppost. They were near enough now that he could feel them and hear every rustle of their clothing, no matter how faint or few they were. Kuroudo knew an adrenaline rush was coming on as he stepped in front of his mother, shielding her. He just hoped the boost would hold until all this was over. He knew they were no mere amateurs or run-of-the-mill robbers, the stealth in which they moved attested to that. "_Show yourselves!_" he shouted in a controlled voice, although his hands were gripping his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white.   
  
The streetlights went off again, but only the one overhead turned back on. Kuroudo's gaze did not waver; he still peered into the shadows. Until, finally, a figure emerged from it. The person stopped before he reached the patch of light around the lamppost, far enough and sheathed enough in the darkness that Kuroudo could not see any of his features. "Kendo Champion, Master Kuroudo Marume?" a dangerously cruel voice that sent a shiver down his spine asked.   
  
"What do you want from me?" he asked back, almost hissing, the kojiki in front of him steady. With no warning, another figure in black ran out of the shadows and charged towards him, he only had enough time to raise his sword on reflex to block the attack that came from above and would have knocked him unconscious had it succeeded to land on his head. His attacker jumped back and Kuroudo took the time to gather his bearings and get into a proper defensive stance, as well as check out his opponent's weapon. To his surprise, it was a wooden sword not unlike his own.   
  
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, but didn't dare turn his head to look at the woman behind him. He nodded his head instead and saw the other swordsman shift into an offensive stance that he was familiar to. He was gathering his thoughts on how to fight it off without moving from where he stood when the voice spoke up again. "Ah, so Madame Marume's here too," it simply said, in a way that unnerved Kuroudo greatly.   
  
The fighting half of their uninvited visitors lunged towards with him with the kojiki. Kuroudo parried and tried to launch his own attack, but the other blocked it easily. They pulled their swords away and his opponent tried again to land a hit, he blocked and returned the favor only to be blocked again. It went on like that for quite awhile, the other would attack him and he would either parry or block, and then he would have his turn on the offensive and be blocked. He didn't realize that they were moving farther and farther from where they started.   
  
Once, Kuroudo saw a weakness, an opening, a chance and he took it, bringing his sword down the man's side as hard as he could. The man didn't even flinch however and took Kuroudo by surprise not only by that but by dropping his kendo sword and grabbing the flaxen-haired young man's arms instead. He twisted them behind Kuroudo and held them there, painful enough that Kuroudo fell to his knees, eyes looking at nothing except the darkness of the road in front of him.   
  
The light flickered out then on.   
  
"Kuroudo, Kuroudo," the voice crooned sickeningly sweetly, and Kuroudo's whole body tensed as he realized it came from behind them --- where his mother stood, "What is the first practical point of defense in all arts of swordsmanship, from kendo to fencing?"   
  
_**Guard your weak points but do not show them to your opponent.**_   
  
"_Don't you dare hurt my mother!_" Kuroudo shouted as he struggled to get back to his feet and fought hard to get loose. The hold on him tightened and the person turned around, turning Kuroudo with him. He paled at the sight that lay before him, his Mediterranean blue eyes burning with anger in contrast. His mother was on the ground, the person who held that frightening voice kneeling next to her, his head turned down so that Kuroudo still couldn't see his face and a knife in one of his hands the tip of which was slightly pressed against his mother's throat. "_You bastard!_" he exclaimed, unable to control himself as the blade drew blood.   
  
The person withdrew the knife and stood up, still not facing him fully. "Don't worry. I just knocked her unconscious. However…it might turn to more than that if you don't cooperate with us."   
  
"What do you want from me?" Kuroudo asked again, in a less calm but threatening tone this time, eyes flashing dangerously.   
  
"Temper, temper. You'll know in time, but meanwhile you only need to remember one thing: You must follow my will. I have ways to make people follow me, Kuroudo. Torture, blackmail…Here's an example," the man said, prodding his mother's body with his feet. "Let's see, shall we? My will is that you will discontinue to resist now, _or you will witness her death right here._"   
  
Kuroudo continued to glare but instantly stilled himself, although he still shook with anger. "What do you want from me?" he asked for the third time, his voice shaking with both fear and fury.   
  
"…You," the voice answered and Kuroudo felt an indescribable pain at the back of his head before everything turned black.

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_Author's Notes: There you have it, the prologue to what I am presuming would be one of my 'angst-iest' (no such word exists) works ever. DARK ANGST, mind you. Note that the rating is PG-13. Might go up, but then again, I'm only fifteen (at the time this chapter was released at least). Dedicated to my spirit siblings, David and Trish._

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**Disclaimers: I do **__not_ own Crush Gear Turbo, its characters, storyline, etc. No money had been made in the writing of this fic. It was created only for the sheer entertainment of the author and her readers and contents did not necessarily occur within the series.


	2. Chapter 1

**Vale tandem, non immemor mei  
_(Farewell, then, and do not forget me)_**

**Chapter 1: Zernebock _(Dungeon)_**

Heikiro was no gambler. As nearly everyone's senior he was above such things, but that did not mean he discouraged it. He was the bookkeeper, the mediator, the one who kept track of all bets placed on the table. He was the only one trust-worthy enough for the job. When the blonde kid first came, most messages within their cluster, one of many that formed a large organization, turned his way. The wager was set: How long would it be before the newcomer either die from the harsh training or kill himself to escape a hellish existence? The shortest period bet was 4 days, and most littered the following weeks, even months, but overall it was not very flattering. It was clear that no one expected the poor kid to last long. One _did_ place down a bet for a year but it came with a note that said, "Humor me."

Not that Heikiro could really blame any of them. The newbie was tasked to his trainee-group so was one of the first ones to see the flaxen-haired teenager when they brought him in. Unconscious and slung over the shoulder of a delivery specialist, his soon to be subordinate did look like a weakling who would fall over with one solid punch. Certainly not promising.

"What task am I train him for?" he had asked them as he inspected the slight bump where the kid had taken a hit, unable to think of any that would fit. He had gone as far as to wonder why the organization even took interest in the frail-looking child in the first place, though he had never done so before and knowm well he was in no position to do so.

"Elimination expert." When the smaller of the pair of specislists had answered him with that, he was more than a little incredulous. The golden-haired youth hadn't looked capable of hurting a fly, much less of assassination. There had to be a mistake.

They had assured him there wasn't and that the head of the taskmasters himself had watched over this one's abduction and given the order. Well, there was no way he could argue with that. It had been night when the specialists left the blonde to his care. When the kid woke up the following morning, he was willing to give him the benefit of doubt. Most woke up after a few days, 3 at the least, and delivery specialists were never incompetent, nor were they ever compassionate.

"Shonen."

_Boy_. That was what they called him. The single thing they allowed him to keep of his life before the organization was his first name-- Kuroudo-- but he would rather be called by his pet name nonetheless. It was given to him by his master, who was more or less the closest person he had to a father figure, out of the childish looks he used to sport. He had matured and hardened considerably since then but the name had stuck. It was a part of who he was, or at least, who the last four years had made him to be. And those years were all that he had. His entire life before the organization was a complete blur, and memories came to him like scenes seen behind a frosted glass pane on a deep winter night. There were only varying shades of gray and white. Only the past four long years remained. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Hai?" he said into the receiver of his headset, ridding his sword of fresh blood that gleamed in the dark with a quick flick through the air before sheathing it. He took a step back from the slowly largening pool of blood before him, unwilling to let his black leather boots get stained, much as his soul already was.

_He had forgotten, but he no longer cared. He didn't even bother to try and remember. What was the point, even if he did? He wouldn't be able to go back to them, not with his blood-stained hands. He had already become a part of this world._

"Body count?" the voice from the other side asked. It wasn't essential for assassins to know who their partner was back at headquarters, but he knew anyway. He could recognize the voice easily with a pair of ears that impressed even the members of the reconnaisance division, consisted of spies with the sharpest senses in the orgnaization.

"Wait. One, two...nine," he answered, checking to see if he had not missed any. With the exception of the targets, he had not really been paying attention who and how many he had cut down. Some of them were fighters so it was for the better he had not worried about it and risked getting his head bashed in.

"Nine? That's seven more people...you're getting better at keeping it clean." The other sounded pleased and he did his best to keep the smile off his face. A commendation from his master was not something rare for him but the number he took out on his missions was always an issue with Heikiro. He was not a blood-thirsty killer but often given big targets, he couldn't help but face the number of bodyguards they had. It was mostly their kind that made the casualites in his reports so high.

"Thank you, sir," he replied, unusually careless. There was a pause in the other end during which he was able to hear the panting of a person within the room. Someone was still alive? Unbelievable. No one had ever survived his assaults before.

"Very well. Pack up and return to HQ, shonen." Heikiro didn't sound the least bit ruffled, much as one could expect from one of the Elites. The Elites. Skilled veterans of the organization, they were second only to the Elders. Though he was still to beat his own own master, he was considered by many to be the level of an Elite. None of the other elimination experts could stand past a minute of combat with him. The only thing that kept him at his level was the fact that he had only been with the organization for four years, seen by most as too short a time to have proven his loyalty and trustworthiness.

He cut the connection off and heaved a sigh. Now, to take care of the mouse he had heard earlier...

**To be continued...**

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_Author's Notes: First real chapter up! Not that there's much in it. Please excuse the poor English. My computer broke and I had to do most of this on pen and paper._

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**Disclaimers: I do **__not_ own Crush Gear Turbo, its characters, storyline, etc. No money had been made in the writing of this fic. It was created only for the sheer entertainment of the author and her readers and contents did not necessarily occur within the series.


End file.
